Down on the beach, Mister Rainbow was sitting under a palm tree, looking out to sea. A child came up to him. — Hello, my name is Quentin, and I would like to ask you an important question. — Hello ... [+]
I've always been curious about the identities of old statues. The minds behind the cool marble and bronze that now lie behind glass cases and plastic name cards. How did they come about being immortalized in stone? Were they just strangers whose profiles lingered in the minds and the hands of the carver? Were they friends, children, servants, lovers? For how long were they implored to remain still? How many requests to straighten themselves, to lift their chins? Did they ever dream that many years into the future, their images would be in all manner of book, of photos, and merchandise? Pe